The Final Rebellion
by theworldabove
Summary: It is the year of 275th hunger games, 212 years since the third quarter quell. Noelle, tribute of district seventeen befriends the headgamemakers daughter and learns about a new band of rebels.
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay... This is my first fanfiction so please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed! Hope you enjoy...**_

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I woke to the sound of Ivy, our family dog, scratching at my bedroom door. Rolling over in my sleep flung an arm around my sister, Olivia, and buried myself deeper within the covers, beckoning for sleep to reclaim me. Today was the day of the reaping, a rare occasion when work was cancelled for the day, as a result, the village was quiet, only the hushed tones of sleep penetrating the silence. After tossing restlessly for three quarters of an hour, I finally accepted my lack of slumber. Carefully disentangling myself from Olivia, I weaved through the beds of my siblings and mother, padding softly into the kitchen. Once there I plucked I bowl from the squeaky glass cupboard and filled it with grain and milk. After rummaging around in the drawers as soundlessly as I could for a spoon I slipped outside into the frosting morning air. As I had neglected a coat, my teeth chattered as I slowly spooned the warm grain into my mouth. While the milk allowed it to slide down my throat, it was still tasteless, and it was so thin I had to swallow several times if I planned on depositing it into my stomach. Staring soundlessly out the window I permit my thoughts to wonder, I allow myself to think about things that I usually keep locked in a box and six feet under in the world of my mind. This year is the 275th annual Hunger Games, 212 years the third quarter quell, and the Mockingjay. In the year of the 75th Hunger Games the districts rebelled, and overtook the capital. The freedom only lasted twelve years. The day after the Mockingjay, and the face of our rebellion gave birth to her second child the remnants of the capital murdered her in front of her own children. After that it only took them 7 months to resume power, and announce the 76th hunger games. To the children of the capital this is history, past, nothing. To the districts, it is a legend. In her place. The secret inferno of the districts. In her place. Every action we do in her place. In thanks of the twelve years of freedom. In her place. The legacy of Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire.

Engulfed in thought I allowed the gentle fingers of mind to carry me further into the deep, dark places that dragged me down. The history of Panem.

Back when Katniss was alive, and Snow was President, their were only 12 districts, well, 13 if you count the rebels. Today there are 19 fully functioning districts, after the capital fell, there was a mass increase in the population of Panem. The districts no longer feared for potential children. The capital no longer had the responsibility. Fifty-nine years ago President Isis created districts fourteen to nineteen. Creating not only jobs, but space. My district, 17, is the district of the arts. Instead of producing goods, we produce talent, and entertainment. Dancers, actors, singers, musicians, and artists are trained and shipped off to the capital to perform for their citizens. While I loved my district, and being on stage gave always gave me a thrill, I still resented it. In the other districts, they have something of an advantage when it comes to the Hunger Games. In eleven they learn to climb, in four to throw a trident, even nineteen has an advantage, as bear hunters they can be the most vicious killers in the games. But here in seventeen nothing is useful, my element is dance, and I cant exactly pirouette my opponents to death.

Removing myself from the tangle that is my thoughts I skip inside with a dancers grace. Clunking my bowl into the skin I run upstairs to awake my family. My twelve year old twin sisters, Aletta, and Callie, both cellists, are curled around each other. My mother, a singer, has her arm over my nine-year old brother, Alvin, born artists, whose body is nestled into hers. Finally, Olivia, who is only six years old has rolled herself up into a tiny ball, and is tapping out piano rhythms in her sleep. My perfect family, who sleeps to peacefully, is a stabbing reminder of my missing father, who died when Olivia was only six months old. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't sick. He just died. A pianist, like Olivia, he died in a car accident on his way to work. Pushing these thoughts back into my head I shake Olivia awake and whisper in her ear. Giggling in agreement to my plan she slips out of bed and runs to collect her tambourine from the kitchen. When she returns I count to three on my fingers and begin my serenade. Singing a song my mother taught me as a child, Olivia rings the tambourine tunelessly. Upon awaking to the terrible noise of my voice does not seem to agree with Aletta, who jumps out of bed and tackles me to the floor. I laugh.

"About time you got out bed, you sleepy head."

Shaking her head climbed off me, and informed me that ,

"You could have spared my eardrums, Noelle," and poked her tongue out. Its true. I am the only non-musical member of our family. Even Alvin can play the harp. Pulling myself up of the ground I come face to face with my mother. Her face is pale with worry. At 16, my name has been entered in the draw four times. The twins each have the name in once. We are all as safe as it gets. Still. The Hunger Games is not something to be taken lightly, I wrap my arms around my mother in a fragile embrace. I know today will be a test not only for my sisters and I, but one for her as well. And even if one of us is selected, she will not even be allowed to break down. She must remain strong for my siblings. For that is the job of a mother.

"Don't worry," I whisper in her ear.

"I don't know how," she spoke back. Pulling her tighter I try and pull myself together. I must not break down either. The twins will look to me for comfort, if I am calm, then hopefully, hopefully, so will they. Releasing my mother I scuttle into the bath, which Callie has just vacated. As I scrub myself clean, the twins chatter aimlessly about what they will wear. Eventually, Aletta decides on a pale yellow dress and small white shoes, and Callie on a green blouse and a white skirt. When my skin had been rubbed raw, and my hair and nails were clean, I stumbled back into the bedrooms. The largest room. In our house, we have only three rooms. The bedroom, which contains three cots, and the bath. The kitchen, and our small studio, which houses all the family instruments, an easel for Alvin, and mirrors and a barre for myself. Before I can even start looking for the white dress I had planned to wear, my mother had already intercepted, passing me a beautiful red dress and a pair of blue shoes. I am stunned. They are brand new.

"Mum!" I cry, about to scold her for wasting money on such material possessions.

"Ellie," she interrupts, "if your reaped, if, heaven forbid, you go to the capital..." she is choking back tears,

"Shhhh, its okay. We will be fine, I am not going anywhere." She nods her head, but I can tell she doesn't believe me. I can see it in her eyes.

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_**I hope you all enjoyed! Please review... :D**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Like I said before this my first fanfiction, so please review and don't be too harsh!**_

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I shuffle around nervously in my seat, waiting for the reaping to begin. Glancing back, I throw my sisters a reassuring smile, not just for their benefit.

'Stop it,' I tell myself, 'just stop it.' Staring impatiently at the screen I try and settle my nerves. Thinking back three months ago, President Iris's voice rings inside my head, "To remind the rebels that they choose who they send to battle, and consequently who dies, one tribute will be evicted from the arena every two days, voted out by the citizens of the districts." This was perhaps one of the worst quarter quells that ever occurred. I had heard in back in 75, citizens had to elect their tributes. But even then, there was the possibility of survival. There was the chance of victory. This was manslaughter.

Wringing my hands together I did the best I could to complete the jigsaw, fix the wreck that I was. Interrupting my attempt at reconstructing my mind was my best friend, Liza. She too was a dancer, and my partner in crime.

"Hey Fish," she teases as she slides into the seat next to me. Fish is her ongoing nickname for me, and even though its been my nick name since we were five year-olds playing ballerinas, I have absolutely no idea why. Rolling my eyes I reply,

"Hey Liza, nervous?" I query. Even though I already know the answer.

"No. Absolutely not." But I here the quiver in her voice. I grabbed her hand and squeezed as hard as I possibly can.

"Hey, you'll be fine. You've only got three tickets in hundreds. You won't get picked." The look in her eyes tells me she isn't just worried for herself. Both her parents died of influenza last year, for seven months she has been supporting her two younger brothers on her own. Selling her body at night. Selling her talents during the day. Alone, her brothers would be sent to the community homes, and we had all seen what had happened there. But here is what she doesn't know. If she is chosen. If Aletta is chosen. If Callie is chosen. I will volunteer. I will be Katniss Everdeen's legacy.

Intruding on my 'noble' thoughts was the click clack the eight inch high heels belonging to Razzberry Heart, our district escort. After the year round showing of the video brought to us by the 'all the way from the capital', and the anthem of Panem, Razzberry commences her annual speech.

"Happy hunger games!" She cried, "And may the odds, be ever in your favour!" As she continued squawking about how excited she was **_H_**for this years hunger games in her ridiculous capital accent, I stared at her frothy pink skin. Her blue hair was braided down her back, reaching all the way to the floor. Small pink flowers had been entwined in the braid, and what seemed to be a raspberry plant was growing from the nape of her neck. Small jewels had been planted into her forehead in the shape of a flower, and she was dressed in a fluffy pink tutu and a yellow bow tie. I wondered how it was possible for this too be fashionable, let alone beautiful.

"Ladies first," she spoke, in a high pitched, seemingly false voice. Click-clicking over to the class bowl that contained the names of a few hundred girls, all biting their nails in anticipation. Plastering a plastic smile on her face, Razzberry reached into the bowl, and drew out a small, white piece of folded paper. Click-clacking back to the microphone, Razzberry flips open the piece of paper, a smile on her face. Before announcing to the rest of us who the poor unfortunate soul might be, she crinkles the paper in her hand, and giggles. As she reads out the name, I am shocked into oblivion.

It isn't Aletta. It isn't Callie. It isn't even Liza.

It's me.

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**_Hope Y'all enjoyed :)_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**disclaimer; I do not own the hunger games, and I am not Susan Collins**_

_**Please review! I would really like to improve :)**_

Liza throws me a fearful glance as I shuffle out of my seat, all eyes trained on me. I keep my eyes focused on the ground, glimpsing at my destination only briefly before vacating my seat. As I mount the stage Razzberry clicks over to me,

"That's it sweetie. Quickly now, we haven't got all day," I glare at her. And stalk my way over to my seat. It is traditional for the tribute to introduce themselves to the crowd, and my forgoing of the routine has resulted in a hateful glance from Razzberry. Great. My escort hates me already.

"Oh, well, time for the boys!" exclaims Razzbery, wandering over to the second bowl. My rudeness has thrown her, apparently everyone in the capitol has perfect manners.

Yeah right.

I continue to feign interest in my shoes, until Razzberry announces the male tribute.

Blight Grove. Oh. Blight is the most popular boy in my year, girls pawn after him, and guys strive to be exactly like him. Every girl has had a crush on Blight. That's right. Even me.

Of course he would be my male counterpart. Shaking my head I resist the urge to cry. Even though I was planning to volunteer. Even though I was willing to volunteer, it is still a shock. I never thought that my crazy day dreams would ever be a reality. My own personal nightmare.

As the reaping draws to a close, we are escorted into the justice building, and I am left alone in a small, locked room. I seat myself on the plush red couch, and run my fingers through my hair. Looking around the room I notice that every piece of furniture is soft, and rounded. Nothing sharp has been so carelessly left lying around. A tribute could go right ahead and commit suicide, and then where would we be? I try and relax, wanting to seem calm and ready for family.

But I can't. With a million thoughts running through my head, I am struggling to come to terms with what has happened. I breath in and out through by nose, and try and decide on a game plan. While I know I cannot win, I can try.

In. out. In. out. The door is thrown open, and Olivia runs in, jumping into my arms. I bury my face in her shirt, and let the tears come. Aletta wraps her arms around my waist, and Callie strokes my hair. Alvin wriggles his way into the gap in between mine, and Olivia's tiny little body. Finally, my mother draws all of us up into her arms and whispers in my ear. And somehow. Somehow. I find enough strength to pull myself together. Gently pushing my family off of me, I mentally prepare myself for the next two minutes.

"Hey," I say, trying to keep the regular humorous lilt in my voice, and failing. "Hey, it's fine. I'm fine. You're all fine." Aletta opens her mouth to interrupt, but I don't let her. "There isn't any way to get out of this, so there isn't any use fighting it." I pause. "There isn't any use fighting it. " My mother speaks first.

"Noella, I know you can do this. You are the strongest girl I know, you're brave, and gallant and clever." I know that she is just saying this, but it makes me feel better anyway. I smile as big as a smile as I can muster and nod my head. For the next minute my siblings bombard me with possible strategies, reminding me of my strengths, and of my weaknesses. I try to take mental notes, but I soon stop, realising that I'll probably forget it anyway. When the peacekeepers come to take them away, Alvin slips an envelope into my pocket, before taking my mothers hand and walking out the door. After they leave Liza walks in the door, and like my siblings, bombards me with game plans. I nod and smile as much as I can. Even though I love Liza all I want to do is open up the envelope my 9 year old brother put in my pocket.

"Fish!" she cries, "Noella! Are you even listening to me?"

"Oh, Liza, of course I am. Its just…." I trail off, quite frankly trying to avoid to avoid the topic.

"Fish, I know. I know. Here, I brought something for you," Liza reached into her pocket, and passed me a small fish pendant, hung on a silver chain. Examining it closely I see that the small curved object has been engraved in in such a way that imitates tiny fish scales. I clutch the chain in my fingers, and nod in thanks. I want to say more, but her time is up. Liza walks out the door.

By the time the peacekeepers arrive to escort me to the train, I have dried my eyes and fixed my hair. Camera's will be there, and I want to look my best. Walking to the station I keep tripping over my feet. Cursing under my breath, I strive to stay upright, at least until we enter the arena. The amount surrounding the train is shocking, it looks like the whole district has turned out, my family is standing at the front, in a small, sad, empty circle. Skimming the audience I soon enough find Blight's family. His mother is red eyed, and his sister is clutching her mothers hand tightly. His father looks indifferent, after sneaking a glance at Blight I realise that his face also remains cool and collected, I wonder how he can be so calm, until I realise that it's just a mask. A mask just like the one I wear upon my own face. Once we are comfortably inside the train, and seated on lavish blue armchairs, I allow myself to return to the comfort of my mind. Razzberry left little over ten minutes ago, claiming she was off to find our district mentors, Hera and Ash. My eyes wandering around the room I take in the luxurious carriage, which is larger than both my bedroom and kitchen combined. A elaborate glass dining table set with silky white china and silver cutlery sits in the centre of the cabin. On each glass chair a delicate, lilac embroidered cushion has been set, the gold tassels dangling over the seat of the chair. An intricate gold chandelier hangs above the table, lit with candles which radiate a soft glow over the already lit room. Soft, royal blue armchairs with chocolate oak trimming, such as the one I am seated on are placed around the room, and small matching oak tables, teeming with capitol delicacies are situated between the chairs at intervals. When my eyes lay on Blake, I see that he looks skittish and uncomfortable. Lingering on my captivating male counterpart I notice the worry in his dreamy eyes of the darkest brown. The frown which he wears on his face does not disrupt the angelic beauty that he is; corded muscles, which bulge underneath the button of shirt which seems painfully white compared to his golden skin. His perfectly symmetrical lips do not justice to his even more pearly whites, which, indeed, are pearly white. When I realise how long I must have been staring I blush and stare out the window, sinking back into my seat as I did so. May as well die in comfort.

_**sorry for the shortish chapter :3**_


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